


Like Clockwork

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Time Skips, workaholnis rides again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Ignis lives, breathes, and dies around the turning of the clock, around parceling out his life into scheduled, productive pieces.Until Gladio.





	Like Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnsteadyGenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnsteadyGenius/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Unsteady! You'll always be the Ignis to my Gladio.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so please forgive my typo transgressions. Big thanks to [roadsoftrial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial/pseuds/roadsoftrial), who helped me brainstorm a lot of this.

****

**8:32 AM [01/17/751]**

Ignis has long since accepted that his life revolves around fractional movements of minuscule pieces of metal, encased in glass and strapped to his wrist. The fact that the reason for his obsession, one Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, seems not to know how to tell time, let alone care one iota about its passage, is one of life’s greatest ironies.

“You have precisely three minutes to open this door before I report your persistent tardiness to His Majesty,” Ignis says, speaking loudly enough to be heard through the heavy piece of wood interposed between himself and Noctis.

The only response is a prolonged, pained moan, more suitable for sustaining a mortal wound than for being told to go to school.

“ _Noct_. I’m quite serious.”

A series of shuffles, slams, groans, and rustles punctuates Ignis’ follow-up threat. Ignis counts each tick of the second hand as his arbitrary deadline approaches, already calculating subsequent retrieval strategies to ensure his charge’s perfect attendance record. The second hand marches towards the ‘12’ in equidistant pulses. Finally, when there are only three heartbeats between Ignis and phase two of Operation Morning Routine, the door opens. A slightly disheveled but uniformed Noctis stands bleary eyed in the door frame.

“Happy?” he asks in his signature teenaged drawl.

Sometimes, Ignis wishes Noct was less like a treasured brother and more like a mere job. It would make it easier to hold on to the simmering irritation already fading from his gut. Ignis takes two steps forward and begins a familiar series of adjustments to Noct’s person: unfolding the lapel of his suit jacket, straightening his tie, searching for any errant stain, and handing him both school bag and lunch.

“It’ll do,” Ignis finally proclaims, ensuring his erasure of any trace of fondness before escorting Noctis down to the private parking garage.

They make it to the drop-off with seven minutes to spare.

Ignis’s unerring devotion to his watch continues throughout his day. 9:30 AM, arrival at his modest Citadel office for an hour of private university coursework. 10:30 AM, the beginning of his four hour Council internship. 1:00PM, a lunch period that Ignis doesn’t use to eat and cuts short by 10 minutes besides. 3:00 PM, departure to ensure a timely arrival at school pick up. 3:15 PM, drum his fingers on the steering wheel and wait out the inevitable four minutes as Noctis and Prompto linger in front of the building, making plans for later or finishing up earlier conversations. 4:00 PM, fight his way through Insomnian rush hour traffic back to the Citadel, where he accompanies Noctis to the training hall for his scheduled lessons with Gladiolus.

The lessons are scheduled to commence at 4:30 PM, but thanks to an accident blocking two lanes of the main traffic artery through Insomnia, Ignis and Noctis arrive at 4:41 PM. It takes every gram of Ignis’s considerable self control not to haul Noct down the hallway by his tie and shave a couple minutes off their arrival time. When they enter through the large double doors, Ignis notes Gladiolus leaning against the opposite wall, looking far more relaxed than Ignis would in the same circumstances. His demeanor, however, changes in an instant—thick eyebrows slant downward in a frown and amber eyes train on Noctis.

“Hey, Princess, you’re late!” Gladiolus calls, crossing the room easily thanks to over two metres of height. Even with Ignis’s own significant growth spurt the past year, Gladiolus has at least a hand of height on him, cutting an imposing (but never intimidating, to Ignis) figure.

“Traffic,” Noct mutters, as though this is somehow a cure-all for wasting eleven minutes of Gladiolus’s time.

“Didn’t hear ya, but it doesn’t matter,” Gladiolus says. His features sharpen, carved by displeasure. “You think His Majesty gets to mumble excuses when he can’t follow through on a commitment?”

“Good thing I’m not king,” Noct mumbles.

This earns Noct a firm punch to the arm. “But you _will_ be king someday, so why not start now? And why the hell are you still in your school uniform? Go get changed.” When Noct doesn’t move, Gladiolus barks with surprising authority, “Now!”

Noct departs for the locker rooms, albeit sullenly. 

A familiar internal debate rages within Ignis. On one hand, Gladiolus is only saying aloud many of the things Ignis espouses in the privacy of his mind. On the other hand, Noct is still due a certain amount of respect as the Prince of Lucis. After checking his watch to verify his remaining buffer time, Ignis parts his lips, intending to press Gladiolus on that very issue. 

“Gladiolus…”

“Yeah?” he asks, the intensity gone from face, replaced with a strange and surprisingly gentle curiosity. He runs a hand over his buzzed head as he maintains eye contact with Ignis.

Every one of the thousand protests Ignis has at the ready die a clean death on his tongue.

“I seem to have lost my train of thought,” Ignis dissembles, checking his watch for emphasis. His constant companion gives him an out. His allotted buffer time has passed; at 4:45 PM, it’s time to take up his post in the Citadel library to continue his university coursework until Noct has finished his training. “Please accept my apologies. I’ll return in two hours to pick up His Highness.”

“Alright,” Gladiolus says. He pauses, his gaze pinning Ignis to the spot with its momentary sharpness. The look is gone as soon as it came. “See you then.” Without further preamble, he turns and heads towards the rack of practice weapons, taking up a wooden greatsword and resting it easily on his shoulder.

The urge to request a sparring match from Gladiolus threatens to escape from Ignis’s pursed lips. As helpful as Nyx Ulric has been with his weapons training, Gladiolus would present a different set of challenges in an opponent. The urge vanishes when he glances at his watch and sees the time. 

4:46 PM.

Time to go.

Ignis offers Gladiolus a single nod, turns on his heel, and leaves before he can change his mind.

* * *

****

**11:02 AM [05/01/752]**

As Councilmember Servius adds yet another random tangent to his discussion of military resource allocation along tenuous Lucian borders, Ignis starts a new column in his notes then stares wistfully at the clock.

11:03 AM. So far from a reprieve. 

He takes another long sip of coffee as though overcaffeinating will ward off the imminent boredom coma. The sip finishes off Ignis’s current can of Ebony, which gives him an excuse to steal up to his office and fetch another beverage during the mandated break. Ignis sets the empty aluminum container back down on the desk too forcefully, the noise of metal against wood echoing through the chamber and drawing a few eyes. He gives an apologetic dip of his head and keeps his eyes affixed to his notes, grateful for the pause in the long drone Councilmember Servius calls a speech.

When Ignis lifts his eyes, a tell-tell prickle coasts along the back of his neck, which raises a suspicion he races to confirm. He nearly drops his pen when he finds Gladiolus meeting his gaze with a knowing smirk. As Councilmember Servius sets in on a tangent about how _long_ and _hard_ and _firm_ his sector’s current position is, Gladiolus lifts one thick eyebrow to accent his smirk; Ignis bites his inner cheek to stifle a sudden, uncharacteristic fit of giggles.

“Something amusing, Amicitia?” This from Captain Drautos, who appears to have noticed the silent exchange.

To Gladiolus’s credit, he’s already resumed his distant yet attentive expression, appearing completely unphased by Drautos’ call out. “No, sir.”

Ignis pretends to take relevant notes as he peers up through his glasses, tracking the exchange. Drautos must decide it’s not worth prolonging this torturous meeting to continue the reprimand, because he turns back and faces the front of the meeting room once more.

By 12:12 PM, Ignis has spent an hour avoiding the mere suggestion of eye contact with Gladiolus. The first quick glances after Drautos’s corrective attempt threatens to send him into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. His efforts to maintain his composure are further hindered by string after string of unintentional explicit innuendo from Councilmember Servius during his report. The few times Ignis casts a tentative look in Gladiolus’s direction, he notes the speed at which amber eyes dart studiously forward to the projection screen. Ignis isn’t certain if he prefers company in his unique misery or not—perhaps if one or the other could maintain their sense of discipline, the two of them wouldn’t be teetering a single moment away from interrupting a room full of nobility and Councilmembers with hysterical laughter.

Finally, one hour and eighteen minutes later, the meeting concludes. Judging from the rapid way the room empties, Ignis wasn’t the only one suffering in abject silence. Though the appointment ran long—Ignis confirms with a habitual tilt of his wrist that he’s 20 minutes behind schedule—he dallies as he packs up his briefcase, arranging his pens and notebooks and phone just so as he waits for the room to clear.

Soon, just he and Gladiolus remain. Ignis finds Gladiolus’s familiar, expressive eyes waiting for his own when he looks across the wide marble table to where Gladiolus stands.

After several seconds of silence, he can contain it no longer: Ignis bursts into laughter. Gladiolus succumbs not an instant later.

They continue laughing until they’re both weeping. Gladiolus resorts to bracing himself on the table with one hand, the other hand clutched around his midsection, as though each guffaw pains him. Ignis thinks it very well might if the tension in his own abdomen is anything to go by; he can’t even stand with the force of his laughter, gasping breaths that contrast with the booming, unrestrained sound of Gladiolus’s. His glasses were the first thing to go and, when he can finally draw air into his lungs without it being immediately expelled, he retrieves them from where they rest on his briefcase, scrubbing the tear stains from the lenses with a microfiber cloth stored in his shirt pocket.

“Six,” Gladiolus says, somewhat breathlessly. “What the hell was that?”

“I find it difficult to believe Councilmember Servius’s lapses weren’t intentional,” Ignis offers, settling his glasses back on his face and pushing them up the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “If I combed through the entire backlog of meeting transcriptions since the Lucian Council was established, I’m utterly certain today’s exchange would be in a category all its own.”

“A category all its own, huh?” Gladiolus echoes. His expression takes on a wicked glint. “Give it to me straight, Iggy… he’s _gotta_ talk about his dick the same way he talks about supply chains, right? He had to practice somehow.”

Ignis sputters at Gladiolus’s crass comment and makes a valiant effort to suppress another bout of laughter.

He fails, but at least he drags Gladiolus back with him.

Finally, thirteen minutes later, the two of them have regained their composure, albeit with wet eyes and sore sides. Ignis adjusts his tie and Gladiolus adjusts his uniform in the newfound silence.

“Shit, I haven’t laughed like that in forever,” Gladiolus says with a small smile. “Maybe the time Noct told that Niff diplomat his suit matched the pea soup. You remember that?”

Ignis grimaces. “How could I forget, Gladiolus? There was an extensive lesson with Noctis regarding appropriate avenues of small talk with visiting foreign powers afterwards.”

“But it _was_ funny.”

“In hindsight, I suppose.”

Ignis checks his watch—2:05PM—and finally makes his way towards the exit. He’s surprised to find Gladiolus walking in step beside him, and equally surprised when he idles in the doorway.

“I’m starving. You wanna grab lunch?” Gladiolus asks, jerking a thumb down the hallway in the direction of the Citadel kitchens.

It’s a tempting thought. A great deal of the tension Ignis carries in his musculature with astonishing regularity has bled away, replaced with a rare sense of ease by all the laughter. If Ignis didn’t know better, he’d say Gladiolus wears a hopeful expression, but he dismisses it as his eyes and mood playing tricks on him. He pulls the palm sized agenda from his inner jacket pocket and flips to today’s date, vanquishing the temptation with several solid lines of tasks and commitments.

“I’m afraid not, Gladiolus,” Ignis responds. On a whim he can’t ascertain the source of, he adds, “but perhaps later on in the week, when my schedule is a little more open?”

“Sure. That sounds great.” If anything, Gladiolus’s smile has gotten brighter, warmer, sparking a copy of the sensation somewhere deep in Ignis’s chest. He takes a few steps out into the hallway before looking over his shoulder. “Oh, and Iggy?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve known each other for how long now? Call me Gladio.”

* * *

****

**8:46 AM [08/17/752]**

The morning is a rare one for Ignis, a morning free of complications. No hassle from Noctis regarding school or diplomatic tutoring afterwards, no urgent emails or requests preventing him from sleep the night before, no line at his favourite coffee shop as he stopped for a rare hot beverage, and no insane traffic clogging his commute. On top of that, the weather promises to be beautiful and warm, so much so that Ignis is already considering using his lunch hour for a breath of fresh air (with his work in tow, of course). He takes advantage of the light traffic to mentally plan out his day, going through the list of items he needs to accomplish.

He’s so involved in this process that he nearly misses the sight of Gladio running down the sidewalk, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and bouncing with every step.

The bright LED numerals on the dashboard of Ignis’s Crown-issued car confirm the time as 8:49 AM. His day doesn’t officially commence until 9:00AM. There’s a possibility he might be late if he stops for Gladio, but he’s already in motion before the thought hooks its claws into Ignis’s time-obsessed brain.

Though he has to execute some rather aggressive maneuvers to get there, maneuvers Noct would most certainly scold him for, Ignis navigates to the other side of the road and slows his vehicle, pulling up alongside Gladio as he hits the button to roll down the passenger’s side window. Gladio, ever alert, had already begun to slow as Ignis approached.

“Good morning, Gladio,” Ignis greets, flicking on his hazard lights as an afterthought. “I do hope I’m not interrupting some new training regimen.”

“Nah. Running late this morning. Damn car broke down, Jared’s out taking Iris to school, and Dad’s already at the Citadel,” Gladio explains, one forearm braced on the edge of the open window. “Don’t suppose you have time to give me a lift?”

“Of course,” Ignis says. “The door’s already unlocked.”

Gladio climbs in, stuffing his considerable bulk into the seat and closing the door. Ignis checks his surroundings and eases back into the flow of traffic as Gladio adjusts the seat to fit more comfortably.

“Thanks for this, Iggy. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m usually paid to ensure Noctis doesn’t find himself in such situations, but I suppose I can make an exception today.” In such close proximity to Gladio, all Ignis can smell with every breath is rich, spicy cologne and a subtle undercurrent of fresh sweat. It’s… more appealing than he cares to admit, and distracting to boot.

“Lucky me,” Gladio rumbles with a confident grin. “Cor would have my ass if I was late for the new recruit induction ceremony. Can’t have the Shield-in-waiting not show up on time.”

“In that case, lucky you indeed,” Ignis replies. Astrals, he can feel the body heat radiating off Gladio in heady waves. He uses a control on the steering wheel to decrease the temperature of the air conditioning. “I wasn’t aware the induction ceremony was today.”

“Huh. Strange. You just made Crownsguard, so maybe you get a free pass on attending.”

Ignis risks a calculating glance in Gladio’s direction. “How did you know I passed my Crownsguard entrance exam? The formal acceptance ceremony isn’t for another fortnight.”

“I was curious, so I checked. Perks of the job,” Gladio explains. If he’s embarrassed about admitting to a mild abuse of his rank, he doesn’t show any outward signs of said embarrassment. 

“Were you merely _curious_ about my qualifications, or did you have a more personal curiosity?” The question falls from Ignis’s lips before he realizes, with a shock, what he’s doing.

He’s flirting. With _Gladio_.

“Well, I was pretty sure you’d pass with flying colours, but most people stress the hell out about the test. Shoulda known you wouldn’t, though, since you’re always so calm and collected.” Gladio shifts in his seat to face Ignis. “So I guess you could say the interest was personal,” he admits in a voice entirely too low for common decency.

“I see.” It’s too much for Ignis to hope his biology won’t betray him. Between the woodsy, clean musk filling the cabin and the gravelly bass of Gladio’s voice, he can feel blood and heat suffusing his cheeks in a fierce blush.

If Gladio notices, he doesn’t press his advantage in Ignis’s moment of weakness. “Don’t worry, Iggy. Secret’s safe with me.”

“I hardly think a matter of public military record counts as a secret, but thank you nevertheless.” Ignis clears his throat and adjusts his glasses.

Gladio chuckles, and the rest of the short ride passes in silence. As Ignis stops to let Gladio out of the car before proceeding to the underground parking garage, Gladio makes eye contact, wisps of sweat damp hair framing his face where they’ve escaped the tie holding them back.

“Thanks again. I owe ya big time.”

“You’re welcome,” Ignis says in a near whisper, but even if he had spoken at a normal volume, Gladio is already too far away to hear.

He parks and enters the Citadel. The last number on Ignis’s watch flips over to three, bringing the time to 9:03 AM, just as he arrives as his office.

For once, being late to work doesn’t seem like a precursor to the collapse of the Cosmogony—not when the memory of Gladio’s grateful smile remains fresh in his mind.

* * *

****

**7:23AM [02/07/753]**

Ignis finishes gulping down his second can of Ebony and tosses it in the first recycling container he passes, never losing speed. It’s been a nightmare of a week and he’d meant to be at the Citadel no later than 7:00 AM—even though it’s Saturday, he works better in the quieter hours of early morning and early evening. Ignis checks his watch no fewer than six times as he waits on the elevator, as though willing time to slow down will indeed cause it to slow.

No such luck.

He mentally composes several urgent emails as he traverses the final passageway leading to his office. When he arrives, he unlocks the door, tosses his bag in the rarely used visitor’s chair, and all but throws himself into the chair to boot up the computer.

It takes him reaching for the keyboard to enter his login credentials to notice the small, wrapped box resting behind it. He squints, studying the brightly coloured parcel.

Noctis had, in a display of surprising thoughtfulness, woken up early to give Ignis his gifts, a black and silver tie and a newly released cookbook Ignis had mentioned wanting to read. His parents had invited him over for dinner that evening, where tradition dictated exactly three gifts with cake to follow. He sometimes received office supplies or other utilitarian gifts from his fellow Citadel administrative staff, but never wrapped and personally delivered.

After ruling out other possibilities, Ignis allows his mind to jump to the one remaining possibility… the one he hopes for hard enough to make his heart beat faster behind his ribs.

Gladio.

The elegant penmanship confirms his guess before he reads the contents of the attached card; Gladio’s mention of calligraphy lessons in his youth had surprised (and intrigued) Ignis enough for him to file it away in his memory. He sets it aside and picks up the wrapped package, its heft and shape familiar.

Slowly, carefully, Ignis peels off the holographic wrapping paper. He rolls his eyes and chuckles when he sees the Ebony logo emblazoned on the side of the package. Of course.

In characteristic thoroughness, Ignis finishes unwrapping the gift completely. As he tears off the last piece of paper, his thumb catches a hard plastic edge along the bottom of the Ebony four-pack. Narrowing his eyes, Ignis places the package on its side to reveal a gift card taped to the bottom.

A gift card to Magna Fidelis.

Ignis has never been prone to fits of sentimentality. However, as he studies the card and the familiar, swooping gold letters of its logo, he can see why others might be inclined to indulge in them. A sweet, pleasant ache stretches his heart taut and thin. Magna Fidelis is a Tenebraen restaurant, a favourite of his family and where his aptitude for cooking was first discovered, an aptitude he would later hone in pursuit of an elusive Tenebraen dessert. He’d only brought it up once in passing to Gladio half a year ago, when Gladio had asked him if he enjoyed cooking prior to undertaking the duty on behalf of Noctis.

One mention, and Gladio had remembered.

Swallowing past an unidentified lump in his throat, Ignis turns his attention to the card.

_Someone else can cook for a change. Happy birthday, Ignis._

_—Gladio_

In the privacy of his office, shielded from prying eyes, Ignis smiles to himself, brushing his fingertips against the luxurious cardstock once. Afterwards, he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieves his phone, unlocking it in a flurry of taps, and opens the messaging app.

After a moment of thoughtful pause accompanied by a low hum, he composes a single text.

 **I. Scientia [7:34 AM]** : Thank you for the gift. It’s perfect.

Gladio’s reply comes within the minute.

 **G. Amicitia [7:35 AM]** : you’re welcome, iggy. just promise me you won’t drink all of that today

A surprised peal of laughter bubbles forth from Ignis’s lips. Every gram of exhaustion plaguing his bones when he entered his office seems to have disappeared into thin air.

 **I. Scientia [7:35 AM]** : I’ll do no such thing.

He doesn’t begin work in earnest until 7:44 AM. 

* * *

****

**5:45 PM [03/31/752]**

Ignis’s pride and insistence on not being outdone when Gladio’s birthday rolls around is how he finds himself immersed in the shelves of Insomnia’s largest bookstore one spring evening. It’s a beautiful establishment full of quiet conversation, the rich aroma of coffee, and of course, more books than he could ever hope to count.

Research conducted on social media and various book review websites have only taken him so far in his mission; he’s enlisted the help of a store employee, who questions Ignis with an efficiency he can’t help but admire.

“You said history or science, right? Do you know if your friend has read _Faction in Black: A Comprehensive History of the Crownsguard?_ I heard the Immortal himself spoke with the author for the section on the present day,” the salesperson asks, their lips pursed in thought.

Ignis resists the urge to chuckle so he doesn’t offend his newfound comrade-in-arms. As amusing as it would be to give Gladio a book on their own organization—even though Ignis doubts the veracity of the claim that Cor Leonis gave an interview for it and wouldn’t mind verification—it seems rather impersonal.

“Perhaps it’d be best to stay away from military history,” Ignis suggests. “What would you recommend in science?”

The salesperson leads Ignis to the science section with brisk steps. They point out several titles that are either newly released or gaining traction in a variety of specialties. Ignis almost settles on Dr. Sania Yeager’s new book, one which condenses her findings into language suitable for popular science readers, but knowing that Gladio has read her research in its original academic format gives him pause. After going through the suggested titles, Ignis gives an apologetic, tight smile to the salesperson.

“My apologies. I know I’m being rather particular with this gift.”

They wave off Ignis’s concern with a flap of their hands. “No worries! I have one more suggestion, but it’s a little out there.”

“Unique is perfectly acceptable,” Ignis says cautiously.

“What about historical fiction with a dash of science and romance?”

Ignis arches his eyebrows in surprise. “Go on.”

Less than five minutes later, Ignis has a copy of _Guarded by Adoration_ in hand. Since it was only released two days prior, Ignis is relatively certain Gladio won’t have already gotten his hands on a copy… that is, if Ignis hasn’t strayed too far from the mark of Gladio’s taste. He likes to think he knows Gladio quite well.

(A small voice in the back of Ignis’s mind adds that he’d like to know Gladio even _better_ , but Ignis quickly squashes the thought.)

Satisfied with his impending purchase, Ignis navigates through the maze-like structure of shelves to complete his errand.

And comes face to face with Gladio.

He silently thanks the Astrals for years of combat training with a focus on dexterity and reaction time, blindly reaching his arm behind his body and dashing the book on a nearby shelf so Gladio doesn’t see it.

“Iggy?” Gladio asks, wearing his signature easy smile. He’s… Six, he looks amazing. While his neurons re-wire themselves, Ignis permits himself one full body sweep of the man in front of him, from the toes of his booted feet to the gelled sweep of newly grown hair atop his head. Ignis has grown so accustomed to seeing Gladio in uniform or training sweats that the dark washed jeans and leather jacket may as well be a suit.

“Hey, Eos to Iggy. What’re doing here? Didn’t think bookstores were your thing.”

Ignis sluggishly realizes Gladio must have asked him the same question twice. “A last minute errand for Noct,” he lies. “He requires a specific text for a report due in two days, which isn’t enough time to purchase it online.”

Gladio’s smile falters momentarily. “Same shit, different day. You need help finding it?”

“No, I don’t believe I do. This store is very well organized.”

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees, smile blossoming to life once more. “This place is my favourite. I guess if I have to have a bad habit, spending too much money on books can’t be the worst.” Gladio crosses his arms over his chest, which affords Ignis a better view of the book Gladio currently has in his hands.

A very familiar book: _Guarded by Adoration_.

It takes all of five heartbeats for Ignis to form a plan of action. “Continuing your bad habit this evening, I see.”

“I’m on the fence about this one, actually,” Gladio says, waving the book for emphasis.

“Oh? Is it not to your liking?” Ignis asks, careful to keep an appropriate amount of disinterest in his tone so as not to rouse suspicion.

“Nah, I’ve been excited about this one for a while. But I already have a million books I haven’t read at home, and Jared might throttle me if I add _another_ bookshelf to my room,” Gladio muses aloud.

“If I’m uncertain about a purchase, I’ve always found it quite helpful to wait for a day or two and re-assess my desire afterwards,” Ignis suggests. All he needs is for Gladio to wait _one_ day, truthfully.

Gladio looks contemplative and then finally nods. “Yeah, I think you’re right. I’ll put it back for now and give it some more thought.” He tilts his head and trains the full intensity of his amber gaze on Ignis. “Hey, you busy tonight? I was gonna stay in and read, but there’s a nice ramen place a block south. We could get a light dinner.”

Ignis is, in fact, quite busy tonight, even discounting the time he spent shopping for Gladio’s birthday gift. His watch reads 6:06 PM. There are separate reports to compile for Noctis and His Majesty, requests from Citadel administration to fulfill, and the never ending cycle of domestic and administrative duties for Noctis to undertake.

“I happen to be free tonight,” he lies for the second time this evening. “Dinner sounds wonderful.”

It’s easy to lose track of time with Gladio, and Ignis does exactly that as they huddle in the corner of the bustling restaurant and enjoy a delicious meal. Aside from the brief mention of Noct in the bookstore, the whole conversation passes without a single mention of work, and when Ignis pulls out the tiny notebook he keeps for recipe ideas, Gladio leans across the table and helps him identify the element of the ramen broth that gives it a subtle yet enjoyable tang.

When Ignis checks his watch again, they’ve whittled away an hour and a half, leaving him only an infinitesimal window to return to the bookstore for Gladio’s gift before it closes. He tries to pay for both of their meals, but Gladio stops him by resting one broad hand atop his. The contact sends an unfamiliar electricity in a pleasant arc down his spine.

“It was my idea. I’ll pick up the tab.”

In the interest of saving time—it’s 8:47 PM according to the maneki-neko clock on the opposite wall—Ignis doesn’t argue. “Very well. Thank you, Gladio.”

“Don’t mention it.” There’s a pregnant pause, as though Gladio is expecting some further addendum from Ignis, but the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Ignis _does_ decline an escort back to his car, instead bidding farewell to Gladio outside of the ramen shop. Once Gladio is out of sight, he jogs back to the bookstore and acquires _Guarded by Adoration_ with six minutes to spare until it closes.

Much, much later, at 2:23 AM to be precise, when Ignis is in the midst of catching up on all the work he delayed in order to have dinner with Gladio, a realization streaks through his mind like lightning elemancy.

He may have just gone on a date with Gladiolus Amicitia.

* * *

****

**4:45 PM [10/15/752]**

The following months offer Ignis no further insight into the ‘was it or wasn’t it’ conundrum consuming his days.

On one hand, Gladio exudes charisma and flirtation when interacting with most people regardless of their gender. Therefore, it seems logical to Ignis that he wouldn’t be exempt from what he’s termed ‘The Gladiolus Effect’ in his hours of mulling on this problem. Ignis knows he’s an attractive man, and in many ways, it’s easier to dismiss this new, strange, unspoken element in their friendship as mere happenstance.

On the other hand…

Ignis can’t stop thinking about Gladio. He’s added an entire new schedule to his mental calendar—adding it to his physical one would cause him more mortification than he could survive should it be discovered. 5:00 AM has become not only the start of Ignis’s morning, but the start of Gladio’s daily run. 1:00 PM has become Ignis _and_ Gladio’s lunch hour. 5:00 PM has become Noctis’s training timeslot _or_ Ignis’s, on the days Noct has scheduled off for rest. Friday after 6:00 PM has the honor of being the end of Ignis’s workweek and the beginning of his weekends, which usually consist of more work and compulsively checking his phone for a text from Gladio to make plans.

It’s torturous. And wonderful. And awful. And amazing.

Ignis has dated casually, but most people quickly realize exactly how busy Ignis’s schedule is, how often he’s forced to say no to spontaneous dates or cancel on pre-existing ones, and disappear without a trace. Gladio may be the only person who has to cancel or reschedule as much as Ignis does, and yet somehow, neither one of them seems to mind. Neither one of them has stopped making an effort to spend time with one another, despite how labor intensive the very act of carving out said time is.

He needs to know if what he has with Gladio is more than friendship, because there’s one fact Ignis can deny no longer: he wants _more_. He resolves to search for a seamless, painless opportunity to clarify the matter one way or another.

Ignis doesn’t have to search for long.

Gladio barges into Ignis’s office early one Friday evening, hurling his weight into the chair across from Ignis as the clock strikes quarter to five. Ignis, not to be deterred, keeps adding figures to the current spreadsheet even as he lifts his gaze to Gladio’s.

“Why yes, Gladio, I am in the middle of an important and time sensitive task, thank you for asking,” Ignis comments dryly.

“Any chance it’s something urgent enough you need to enlist a volunteer? A volunteer named Gladio?”

The faint note of desperation in Gladio’s tone is enough to stop Ignis’s fingers from continuing their delicate flight across his keyboard. “Unless you’ve mastered the elusive art of compiling the latest budgetary figures for Noct’s review, no, I don’t believe so.”

Gladio groans. “Damn. That might be the only thing worse than the one I’m gonna have to deal with.”

“Elaborate.”

“There’s a…” Gladio pauses and leans forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s a thing.”

“I’m afraid you need to be more specific than ‘thing’ if I’m to assist.”

“You know how Dad’s been after me to start the whole formal courtship crap, right? Well, there’s a _social_ tonight, and every person I asked to go with me to this fancy piece of shit is busy or said no.”

“Could you not go by yourself?” Ignis asks carefully, buying himself ever important time as a plan crystallizes in his mind.

“I _could_ ,” Gladio says, “but since the whole point of these things is nobility matchmaking, it’ll be like a pack of voretooths circling a fresh carcass.”

Ignis is well aware of the mixers hosted by Lucian nobility and their purpose; in point of fact, he’s been invited to several, but as he’d been uninterested in courting anyone from the upper echelon of Lucian society, he always declined.

Uninterested until he developed feelings for Gladio, to be more specific.

“And how precisely do you expect me to help?” Ignis presses, pointedly ignoring the tremulous and sudden spike in his heart rate.

“Know any distant House Scientia relatives who are single and enjoy free food and dancing?” Gladio asks with a chuckle.

For months, the combination of Ignis’s uncertainty and quickly growing affection for Gladio has put his confidence in a stranglehold. But here, now, with Gladio looking at him so earnestly, Ignis sees the opportunity he’s been waiting for, and the noose around his throat slips away like silk.

“There is one single, eligible House Scientia member who very much enjoys free food and dancing,” Ignis says airily, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths as he peers at Gladio over the top of his glasses.

“Really?” Gladio asks brightly. “Who?”

“Me.”

Ignis watches in real time as a kaleidoscope of emotions plays out across Gladio’s face. Most of them pass so swiftly that they elude identification, but the final one, the one that stays, is abundantly clear:

Joy.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Three hours later, Ignis and Gladio arrive twenty minutes late to party—fashionably late, or so Gladio insists. He’s so handsome that it pains Ignis to look at him for too long, and yet each time he _does_ look, he finds Gladio’s wide amber eyes drinking him in. As they pause outside an ornate set of double doors, Gladio offers Ignis his elbow.

“Ready?” he asks.

Ignis loops his arm through Gladio’s, straightens his back, and gives a single nod.

He doesn’t look at his watch for the rest of the night. Only the next morning, tangled in both Gladio’s body and his bedsheets, does he finally glance at the clock on the bedside table, which reads 6:52 AM.

* * *

****

**??:?? AM [06/16/756]**

Despite a full day of driving and a full night of maneuvering the Regalia through packs of daemons, Ignis wakes first.

It’s always been impossible for Ignis to fall back asleep once he’s truly awake for the day, so he slides out of the tent with silent, practiced eased and heads straight for the haven’s makeshift kitchen to make coffee in the soft glow of haven runes.

Like clockwork, Gladio joins him shortly thereafter, padding across the smooth stone to stand beside Ignis. Ignis sighs in quiet pleasure as Gladio winds his arms around Ignis’s waist from behind and presses a gentle, lingering kiss to the side of his neck.

“Morning.” The word is a low rumble against Ignis’s skin.

“Good morning,” Ignis replies softly, punctuating the greeting with a pleased hum in the back of his throat.

They stand together like this for a while in the buttery orange glow of sunrise, as has become their habit on mornings where they’re certain Noctis and Prompto are still asleep. When the first cup of coffee has sufficiently worked its way through Ignis’s bloodstream, a question lingers on the tip of his tongue.

“Do you know what time it is?” Ignis asks. He’s without everything from hair gel to glasses to phone to shoes and thus has no way of ascertaining the time.

“Old habits die hard, huh?” Gladio’s calloused fingers skim down Ignis’s arm to encircle his wrist, which is devoid of his customary watch.

Ignis chuckles. “I suppose.”

“You _really_ wanna know?”

Ignis settles back into Gladio’s embrace and closes his eyes, basking in the beauty of this stolen moment, in the quiet of morning with the man he loves.

“No. No, I don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 Comments and kudos are appreciated if you enjoyed.


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